


Five Rules of the Underworld (Day 1 of Gwenvid Week 2019)

by Forestwater



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: F/M, Persephone/Hades AU, gwenvid week 2019, no real smut but a little bit of spice, random greek names because i was feeling pretentious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-01 08:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Forestwater/pseuds/Forestwater
Summary: Rule #1: No flowers.Rule #2: No touching anything.Rule #3: No touchinganyone.(Gwenvid week 2019, Day 1: Flowers/Plants -- Persephone/Hades AU)





	1. Rule 1

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for Persephone/Hades AU idea goes to [steadyconnoisseurnacho](https://steadyconnoisseurnacho.tumblr.com/)! :)
> 
> Greek names (in order of appearance)
> 
> _Campbell (Zeus)_: Ekkentro (“Cam” was the closest I could get, and I don’t know enough about the Greek alphabet to know how we got there. It is probably very very off but here we are)  
_Gwen (Hades)_: Nkouén (“Nk” makes a G-like sound)  
_David (Persephone)_: Davíd  
_Campbell’s failed names for Gwen_: Nkríta (Gryta), Nkíni (Gina), Nkrétel (Gretel)  
_Muack (Cerberus)_: Platýpous  
_Quartermaster (Charon)_: Epimelitís  
_Penelope Priss (Aphrodite)_: Pinelópi  
_Jasper_: Iaspis  
_Max_: Maximilián (couldn’t get a name out of the shortened version, so I went with a version that isn’t actually my hc for his name)  
_Nikki_: Nikolét  
_Neil_: Nial (there is no translation of “Neil,” but I found variations on the name and picked the closest)  
_Harrison_: Chárison  
_Ered_: Mérentith

Of _ course _ when she’d told Ekkentro she needed help down in the Underworld he’d send her a part-timer, who’d only be around for half the year, who didn’t belong underground and who certainly didn’t belong within fifty feet of _ her_. Of course when he tried to find someone to live in the _ godsdamned sunless afterlife_, he picked the god of nature and vegetation.

Honestly, Davíd was probably the only one who’d agree to the job. Whatever hold Ekkentro had on him was well beyond Nkouén’s grasp, but it did mean Davíd would do anything he said.

Which meant here he was. 

With her.

In the Underworld.

_ Fantastic. _

“Okay, rule number one,” she said, stepping forward and lifting the hem of Davíd’s woven-flower cape, “none of that.”

She blew on the delicate pink buds that’d sprouted from the ground around his bare feet, watching them wither and disappear with satisfaction.

“Oh! Sorry.” He skittered back -- and a trail of pale yellow lilies burst to life in the shape of his footsteps. “Oh, geez, I -- gosh, sorry . . .”

Nkouén watched him hop from foot to foot, little patches of flowers erupting everywhere he touched, and cursed Ekkentro under her breath. (If she thought for even a second that he cared enough to do so, she’d be positive this was some kind of cruel joke. But she didn’t matter nearly enough to the king of the gods to warrant that much consideration, even though she basically ran both the Overworld _ and _the Underworld, and if she hadn’t had the bad luck to get eaten by their father . . .)

“Nkouén?” Davíd had frozen, trembling, a few feet in front of her; the ground around him was a neat circle of grass as wide as her hand, a narrow sapling twisting over his shoulder as she watched. It flowered, and a bright red fruit formed from one of its branches like a droplet of wine. “I’m sorry I’m having trouble following your rules! I’m not . . . trying . . . to?”

He trailed off as a chipmunk emerged from a knot in the growing tree, chattering. It ran down one of the branches and hopped up onto Davíd’s shoulder before disappearing in his hair.

Was it too early for her to quit this whole goddess thing? Sometimes Nkouén thought she’d make a great baker, if she’d ever had the need to eat.

_ “Okay_.” She clapped twice, and all the greenery around Davíd died; she hated to think what happened to the chipmunk, but decided that wasn’t her problem. “Just get over here and try not to bring anything back to life on the way.”

“Alrighty!”

Gods, this was already the biggest mistake she’d ever made.


	2. Rule 2

“Just find something black. I can’t have you walking around here all bright and . . . _ alive _-looking like that.” She’d worked hard to cultivate her gloomy aesthetic -- when the only natural light came from phosphorous mushrooms and the sickly glow of the dead, she’d found it easier to just lean into it rather than try and inject some brightness into the place.

He disappeared into her wardrobe without comment, and she’d just turned around to do some broody pacing around her bedroom lair (she was very committed to the aesthetic) when the little pool of water in the corner of the room began to light up, casting glittering, wavering golden rays onto the walls and ceiling like the pool was reflecting sunlight from within. The show was accompanied by a faint tinkling, a sound between wind chimes and raindrops that Nkouén almost exclusively associated with irritation and her day being ruined.

And right on time . . . “Nkríta! It’s been too long.”

She knelt by the pool, resisting the urge to just drop a rock into the water and break the connection. “We talked last week. And I told you to never summon me again unless the world was ending.”

Ekkentro laughed, shaking his head. “Oh, don’t be like that! How’s my little Davíd doing? Don’t ever say I don’t do anything for you!”

“Oh, he’s _ great_.” She rolled her eyes, resting her hand in her cheek. “_However _ did you find him, sir?”

“I’ll tell you, Nkíni, it wasn’t easy. But I thought of how important I must be to the little people like you and I knew I had to find someone perfect!”

She refused to let herself get riled up by “little people.” Or by the fact that, after centuries, her _ younger brother _ of all people couldn’t be bothered to remember her name. (No, they looked nothing alike. She worked _ very _hard to make sure of that.) “And you sure did,” she said dryly, glancing back over her shoulder to check that her new “helper” hadn’t finished finding something he could wear that wouldn’t burst into flowers as soon as he touched it. “Do you actually need anything, or . . . ?”

“Don’t be like that! I thought you’d be happy to hear from me. Give you something to do down there, right? It must be pretty quiet ruling over the dead! Not like being king of gods, let me tell you --”

“Will you look at that, I think Davíd needs me, gotta go, bye.”

“Don’t be a stranger, Nkrétel!” He barely managed to get the words out before she splashed the water, disrupting the connection with a spray of gold ripples and resting her forehead on her arms with a groan.

“Was that Ekkentro?” She lifted her head to see Davíd poking his head into the room, his eyes bright and sparkling as the water at her feet. “Was he checking up on me?”

Nkouén climbed to her feet, shaking the water off her fingertips. “Pretty sure he just called to talk about himself,” she said as Davíd shuffled into the room, dragging his feet awkwardly. “Like usual. What are you doing?”

“I learned that I can’t break your rules if I don’t lift my feet!” he said brightly, moving in a quick, clumsy circle to show off his discovery. It was true; the floor beneath his feet remained polished black marble, with not a shred of flora. “Though your closet is a little . . . um, colorful? Since I had to -- _ ah!” _

Glancing back over his shoulder to inspect the damage to her wardrobe, Davíd tripped over the black robe trailing in his wake and toppled over with a groan, followed immediately by a yelp as plants cropped up where his cheek and hands touched the floor. “Oh dear oh dear oh --” He backed up into the doorknob with a hiss of pain, catching himself on a small table and watching in horror as the petrified wood turned alive and organic, even sprouting a bright orange bud. “I’m sorry!”

“Stop.” She held up her hand and he froze, watching with fascination as she touched each spot of life and undid it.

“Nkouén, that’s amazing!” He shifted, like he was going to inspect the table in closer detail, but thought better of it and went still before he nature-ified any other of her belongings. “How did you do that?”

She stared at him for a long, cold moment. “I’m the _ goddess of death, _ Davíd.”

“Oh, that’s right! Silly me.” He tapped his forehead with his palm in a mock-slap, chuckling. “Still, it’s very impressive!”

“Yeah, whatever.” She brushed past him, hearing a rustle as grass sprang up where her clothes touched his arm, and then immediately died as they fell back against her skin. She dropped to her knees, fumbling under a shelf for the boots that she knew would appear as soon as she thought about them, then snagged a pair of gloves that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

She thrust them in his direction, carefully avoiding touching him as he took the clothes from her and clumsily pulled them on.

“Rule number two: as long as you’re down here, you’re wearing gloves if you have to pick up anything.”


	3. Rule 3

“Wowee, Nkouén! That was quite a day.” Davíd bounced along at her side. He’d managed not to create any more vegetation now that he was fully covered, and he almost looked nice all decked out in dark gray and purple. 

He was still far from blending in, though; even before he said or did something completely inappropriate (crying in the Mourning Fields, running around to congratulate everyone who’d made it to the Isles of the Blessed, insisting on shaking the hand of every employee she had -- and he would’ve introduced himself to all the spirits if she hadn’t given him a glare so mean it’d killed all the asphodel in a twelve-foot range around the two of them), he just _ looked _ wrong for the Underworld. His hair caught all the light, capturing it and reflecting it back like a flame; his eyes were luminescent like a cat’s, vibrant green in a world of black and gray; and even his skin had a healthy pink glow in the pallid light, like he _ was _the sun that the afterlife had been missing for millennia.

It was really killing the whole “mysterious goddess of the dark eternity” aura she worked so hard on projecting.

“I can’t believe you accomplish all that every single day!” he continued, taking the pomegranate she held out to him (they’d missed dinner because Davíd had been so enamoured with the three-headed Platýpous that even she couldn’t find it in her heart to rush them along. And while they didn’t _ have _to eat, they certainly might as well).

Nkouén took a seat at the long, low table piled high with food, still warm even though it was hours after they should’ve been back. “We didn’t accomplish anything today,” she pointed out, trying to keep the bite of irritation from being too sharp in her voice. “You just looked around.”

“And what a lot there is to look at!” He settled down across from her, eyes still wide and bright even when there was nothing left to see except the dark marble room. “I never imagined the Underworld was so big.”

“We’ve had to expand,” she admitted, picking at her food. They were behind by an entire day now, and she tried to ignore the gnawing feeling of anxiety in her stomach by drowning it with nectar.

There was a moment of quiet, where Nkouén pondered the stupidity of linear time in a place where mortal time _ goes to stop_, and how much less stressful it’d be if she had nearly as much power over the laws of the universe as everyone thought she did.

“So, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Davíd gingerly worked open the fruit, watching her with a look that was annoyingly careful and curious -- and even sympathetic, which disturbed her far more.

She pulled a plate toward her a little more forcefully than she’d intended, shrugging. “You have to meet my assistant, we need to speak with the Furies about the state of security around Tartarus, attempt fruitlessly to convince Epimelitís to stop scaring the dead so much because we’re getting an issue of buildup of souls afraid to cross the river . . .” She glanced up at him, resisting the urge to smile. “Walk the Platýpous.”

His eyes lit up before he squared his shoulders and gave her a nonchalant nod. “I can’t wait to help you with all of those tasks.” He put just the slightest emphasis on _ all, _and she wasn’t buying it one bit.

“I’m sure you would.” As he popped a few seeds into his mouth, she added casually, “You know they say anyone who eats the food down here has to stay forever.” 

Davíd froze, the tips of his fingers stained ruby-violet with juice. His eyes darted from her to the fruit sitting on the table.

Smirking, she continued, “It’s not true, of course, but people still say it.”

He swallowed the seeds with an audible _ gulp_, laughing nervously. “Mortals say the darnedest things,” he agreed weakly, pushing the rest of the pomegranate away from him. “But I sure am excited to help you this season!”

“Two seasons,” she reminded him casually. “Ekkentro said I have you for six months.”

“Yes. Right. Six months.” His expression dimmed just slightly, and he looked around the room again -- this time decidedly less awestruck. 

Nkouén suddenly felt a little sick.

“I look forward to it,” he managed finally, giving her a wan smile.

It wasn’t the first time today that she’d wondered what she’d gotten herself into.

But for the first time, she did ask herself what exactly they’d signed _Davíd_ up for.

* * *

She was surprised how well Davíd rallied, seeming back to his usual self by the time they’d finished dinner. He also seemed dead on his feet, cheek pillowed in one hand and his eyes drifting closed as he played with the remains of a roast duck. “Oh, is this disrespectful?” he asked suddenly, his eyes snapping open as he sat up straight. He’d been tapping two picked-clean bones across the table, swinging them between his fingers like walking legs, but he dropped them to the plate and quickly put his hands in his lap, looking over at her from under his lashes like he expected her to toss him in the Styx.

She snorted, wiggling her fingers so the bones reformed into the shape of the duck; it opened and closed its beak a few times, the only sounds the sharp clack of the bones clicking together. “Quack, quack,” she said dryly, letting the duck collapse back into a pile of bones. “I’m not easily offended, Davíd.”

His mouth twitched, but he covered his mouth before his face could break into a full grin. “That’s a re -- l-l . . .” The word cut out in a yawn. 

Nkouén got to her feet, coming around the table and hauling him up by his cape. “Bed, flower-boy.” She suddenly realized she didn’t have a place for him to sleep, and picked up a pillow, throwing it at the wall next to her bed. A door appeared in the spot the pillow hit, tall and polished black wood. When she opened it, there was a simple black room with the same sparse decor as her own. “If you need anything, I can ask Iaspis to --”

“I love it!” Davíd launched himself into the room, nearly falling over in his effort to remove his gloves and shoes at the same time. “Can I --” 

Without waiting for an answer, he ran his hands along the walls, watching delightedly as vines sprouted from the marble and climbed toward the ceiling and floor. Small blue flowers appeared in intervals down the vines, but he’d already turned his attention to the bed, throwing himself on it and rolling around until the entire mattress was thick with dark, springy grass. His footsteps had created patches of wildflowers, and even without his feet on the floor they spread wall to wall -- stopping only at the edge of the door, where the few that brushed against Nkouén’s feet turned black and withered to dust.

She leaned against the doorframe, careful not to spoil any of the plants (though they seemed to almost know not to wander too near, giving her a few inches of clear space along the wall and floor). “There’s a scrying pool in the corner,” she said, pointing to where a patch of wheat nearly obscured the light bouncing off the water. “So you can keep in touch and . . .” _ See the sky. _“I don’t want you getting too homesick and crying daisies or whatever.”

He lay sprawled out on the bed, staring up at the dark ceiling as he caught his breath. “Thanks, Nkouén,” he said sincerely, sitting up on his elbows so he could look at her. There was no strain in his smile anymore, just a slight softness around his eyes. “I already feel more at home.”

She grimaced; she knew what the aboveground looked like, of course -- she’d been there more than a few times, and had watched it being created -- but she still couldn’t imagine spending this much time surrounded by all this . . . 

Well, _ life_.

“Good,” she finally said, realizing she’d just been looking around (with some distaste). “Maybe we can find a couple unused places in the Underworld that you can . . .” She waved her arm at the oppressive greenery. “Do all this, with. That won’t disturb the dead or anything.”

“Really? That’d be wonderful!” He hopped to his feet, causing another burst of flowers -- bright pink tulips, weaving into the few empty spaces -- and crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling her into a hug. “Thank you.”

His touch jolted through her, stealing her breath. All of the gods had an energy; it was why consorting with mortals was an extremely dangerous matter -- well, for the mortals anyway -- but while Ekkentro slapping her on the back made her hair stand on end and crackle with electricity, and too much time spent with Pinelópi, the goddess of love, left Nkouén heated and flustered, Davíd’s arms around her were warm, like she’d been drenched in sunlight for hours. His grip was firm, supple and slightly yielding, creating the strange phantom sensation almost like the taste and crisp bite of an apple in the back of her throat, and his hair brushed against her temple with the light ticklishness of brushing past a fern.

He gasped, his arms tightening spasmodically around her before letting go, and when he stepped away, she felt a chill shiver through her limbs. His face was pale, freckles that had been nearly invisible in his rosy complexion suddenly standing out stark, and as she watched he drew his robes tighter around himself, trembling slightly as though the room was cold. His eyes, wide and disbelieving, were focused on her face. “Nkouén,” he began -- a sentence without an ending, as far as she could tell; he just swallowed and wet his lips with his tongue, coaxing a little bit of pinkness back into them.

She glanced behind her; even in the imperfect reflection of the marble floor, wavering and dark, she could tell that her skin was brighter than usual, the grayish almost-ashy tint flushed with vitality. Her hair even felt lighter and fluffier, reflecting the dim torchlight in a way she wasn’t used to and didn’t much care for. She took a step back, well out of the green oasis and back into her own bedroom. She swallowed and tasted ripe fruit.

“So,” she said, taking a deep breath that even tasted sweeter than usual. “Third rule: _ no _ touching.”


	4. Rule 4

“How are things going with the brats?” Nkouén asked, not breaking her stride as she and Davíd were joined by a small, pale spector.

“The Furies are . . . presenting some challenges,” the spirit replied, falling easily into step with them. Her assistant had an uncanny way of finding her, no matter where she was in her daily rounds, and could navigate the vast boroughs of the afterlife with ease. The asphodel they walked through parted for their goddess and stretched toward Davíd longingly, but all the souls of the dead passed through like they didn’t exist. “Maximilián is still convinced that he can trick the Titans into doing their bidding, and last I heard he had Nikolét and Nial working on a way to reopen Tartarus.”

She groaned, wishing she could just throw those three into the pit and be done with them. “There has to be someone on the surface who needs vengeance. Send them up and let them wreak havoc for a few years. That always puts them in a good mood.”

“Hello, Iaspis,” Davíd said softly, giving the boy a small wave. They’d become surprisingly close over the last few months, Nkouén imagined because her ghostly assistant and her divine one were both about the same age, as far as maturity was concerned. 

“Hi, Davíd!” he replied, still scribbling notes. She’d been waiting for their friendship to hinder productivity, since Davíd’s easy distractibility made him a vortex of wasted time, but it seemed Iaspis enjoyed the challenge of keeping him on task, and even though he was younger both in terms of physical age and time in eternity, he’d taken an almost protective role. 

Proving once again that her taste in staff was impeccable, when she was allowed to select them herself. (Though she had to admit, Davíd wasn’t all bad, either.)

As they reached the entrance of the Underworld, their attention was snagged by a commotion at the river. Several souls were milling around on the far bank, waiting to be taken across, but suddenly they scattered, screaming, as a small ferry drew near and its lone rider leapt out, brandishing the long, knobbled oar attached to the end of his left arm.

“Epimelitís,” she groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m going to kill him.”

“It wouldn’t help, ma’am,” Iaspis replied without looking up from his notes. “He’d just reform in a few days.”

“It’d make _ me _ feel better,” she muttered, stomping to the edge of the Styx and peering across at the boatman, who’d successfully scared away the closest spirits and was stalking back and forth along the bank. “For the love of . . . how am I supposed to intimidate the dead if I can’t even get over -- _ hey, Epimelitís! _” 

He didn’t seem to hear. Or was ignoring her. Either way, not a good look for the Queen of the Underworld.

“Nkouén, what if I . . .” She ignored Davíd as he trailed off, dipping her toe in the charcoal-gray water and wincing. It was somehow both boiling _ and _freezing; how was that even possible? 

Gods, the things she’d designed as a young, enthusiastic goddess, so thrilled about having her own assignment. If only she’d known how many of those cool little gimmicks would end up being massive pains in the ass down the road. “Iaspis, how vulnerable are the spirits to me setting everything over there on fire?”

“You’ll probably send at least some of them to the void.”

She grimaced, chewing on a hangnail. “And is that a _ bad _thing or . . . ?”

“We’d have to redo our quarterly reports.”

There was nothing less appealing than touching those damned things again. “Fine.” She drew the hems of her robes up around her and stepped out onto the water, muttering, “Come on, ghosts. Earn your paycheck.” (Which was a figure of speech, of course; _ she _wasn’t getting paid to run the entire kingdom of the dead, so there was no way she was giving out benefits to dead mortals.)

The Styx was filled with the souls of those who’d tried to swim across to the other side -- alive or dead -- instead of paying the ferryman, and were sucked down into its fathomless depths. As her shoe touched the churning surface of the water, a swell of the river’s inhabitants rose up underneath her, bearing her weight and keeping her foot from breaking the surface of the water.

As she crossed, she tried not to think about how the spirits could always choose to dump her into the scalding-frozen water and leave her to a painful and embarrassing rebuilding of her form (and she’d grown quite attached to this one). But while her family might ignore her and her staff might disobey her, mortal beings . . . tended to be easier to get along with. 

Mostly.

Maybe it was just that _ she _wasn’t very good at getting along with people who weren’t already dead.

Nkouén landed on the other side of the river and strode forward, grabbing the boatman’s hair with one hand and stopping him in his tracks. Or at least, that had been the plan; instead he dragged her along a few feet before noticing that she was hanging off the back of his head, and reluctantly stopped swinging his oar-arm and yelling. “Hnnn?”

“What’s the holdup?” she asked, keeping her voice calming and pleasant; not that it helped with someone who’d lost most of his mind back before the sun had been put in the sky, but she didn’t want to meet the business end of that oar (again).

He jerked his head at the huddle of frightened dead. “Smugglin’ squirrels,” he grumbled.

She looked over at them and received a chorus of confused shrugs and head-shakes in return. “Are they . . . _ dead _squirrels?”

“No squirrels allowed. ‘Specially without paying.”

“Right.” She thought for a moment -- less about the problem at hand and more about how she’d never expected being in charge of the entire afterlife would be so weird and stupid. “What if we -- oh, _ gods. _”

“Hello!” Davíd hopped off a small raft, which appeared to be a complicated series of sapling trunks lashed together with flower chains. He beamed at her, and then at Epimelitís, his smile not fading under the boatman’s unsettling glare. “I’m here to help!”

Of course he was. “How did you even get across?”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you! Though you sure did find quite an impressive way of managing it on your own . . . Anyway, the spirits of the river were very friendly and happy to help me get across. A little chatty though, aren’t they?”

Oh, the _ dead _were chatty? She sighed and turned back to Epimelitís, who she was relieved to see hadn’t gone back to menacing the spirits yet. “Have you actually seen any squirrels?”

His good eye narrowed. “You callin’ me a liar?”

“All right, I think we can all agree we don’t want things getting out of hand!” Davíd stepped between them, holding his hand out to Epimelitís. “We met a few weeks ago, do you remember? My name is Davíd.”

“I know how to kill a god.”

Davíd’s grin wavered, his eyes flicking over towards Nkouén. “Excuse me?”

“Chop you up into pieces, throw you in the Lethe so deep no one would remember you existed.” He snorted, an ugly, thick sound. “Done it before.”

“To who?!”

“You wouldn’t remember them.”

“Well, you two have fun,” Nkouén cut in, turning her attention to the assembled souls. “I’m gonna get back to work, with the not-crazy people.” (She hoped.)

As she approached them, she lowered her voice, assessing the crowd as well as she could when there were so many of them, and they kept flickering like a torch in the wind. “Okay, I’ve gotta ask: do any of you _ have _ something you’re bringing in? Like a puppy, maybe?” When they all murmured no, she sighed and crossed her arms. “Any of you part animal? Because he’s crazy, but he’s got a surprisingly good nose.”

A young satyr stepped forward, wringing a battered black hat in his hands. “Um,” he managed, then quailed under her expression, backing away and gulping.

She schooled her face into something a little friendlier (she hoped) and took his arm. “Come on, then,” she said, leading him over to where Davíd and Epimelitís were standing in an uncomfortable silence. “Is this your squirrel?”

Epimelitís leaned over the boy, snuffling around him like a dog. He grunted, straightening up and glaring at the satyr.

“Great. Glad that very stupid issue was settled. How about you start ferrying, then?” She waited just long enough to make sure he was getting the boat ready for passengers, then turned to the spirit. “Thanks, kid. Get in the boat.”

He frowned, shuffling back and forth on his hooves uneasily. “It’s just . . .”

“Listen, once you’re across the river you never have to talk to him again.”

Davíd had been watching avidly. Now he knelt down so he was at eye level with the satyr. “What’s your name?”

“Chárison.” He puffed his chest out slightly. “The famous illusionist beloved by the gods.”

She snorted -- none of that was true -- and Davíd shot her a stern look. “I think I’ve heard of you!” he said brightly. “Now, do you have a coin for the nice man over there?”

Chárison glanced incredulously over at Epimelitís, then shook his head.

“Well, then!” Davíd fished in his robes and clumsily pulled out a gold coin, fumbling slightly with his gloves. “I think after all your service you deserve this.”

He took the coin, beaming. “Do you wanna see one of my illusions?”

“Of course I --”

“Later,” Nkouén snapped, ushering Chárison over to the boat. “Other side of the river, kid. You’ll have literally eternity to show people your magic tricks once you get on the damned boat.”

She turned back to the other spirits, who’d moved a little bit closer out of curiosity but didn’t seem eager to board.

One down, only about 300 to go. “Come on, c’mon, I’m a very busy goddess and I’m not wasting my entire day over here.”

By the time she’d coaxed a few more passengers onto the boat -- a playwright who was convinced he’d been murdered out of jealousy, a young artist who’d fallen from a ladder while painting the ceiling of Athena’s temple -- she turned to find Davíd surrounded by a circle of spirits, handing out coins.

“Hey! Enough freeloaders.” She strode over to the group, shooing them away from Davíd. “You’ll wander the shores for a hundred years waililng just like the rest of the poor people.” To Davíd she said, “Where are you even getting all that money?”

“Offerings! Mostly it’s sacrifices and burnt offerings, but sometimes people give gold!” He looked at her curiously. “What do you do with your gold pieces?”

Mostly she’d been feeding them to Platýpous, who she was pretty sure could eat anything. “We’ve got actual work to do,” she said, turning away.

“Oh, but hold on, Nkouén! There’s someone here I think you should meet.” Wrapping his gloved fingers around her wrist, he tugged her over to a teenage girl with snail-dyed hair and dark circles around her eyes. “This is Mérentith.”

“Éren,” she corrected sullenly, crossing her arms. The streak of purple in her hair had bled a little onto her forehead, and Nkouén hated to think how she’d even gotten ahold of the dye. “My father is Ekkentro.”

Yeah, like _ that _was supposed to impress her. Nkouén was pretty sure half the population had been fathered by her brother. “Neat. So, how about you just get into the boat so I can move on with my day --”

“She was slain fighting a chimera to save the woman she loved!” Davíd clasped his hands over his heart, his eyes filling with tears. “Isn’t that romantic?”

It was, but she didn’t need to encourage him. “That’s a shame. Anyway --”

“I’m going to escape,” Éren said, following them to the boat. “Heracles did.”

She rolled her eyes and was about to point out that Heracles hadn’t actually died, but then realized how ridiculous it was to argue with some spoiled adrenaline junkie with delusions of grandeur. “Enjoy your trip.”

* * *

“Can I ask you a question?”

Nkouén glanced up from the sheaf of papers she’d been paging through. (Mediocre poetry, but she did think this Homer fellow was onto something.) “Mmm?”

She was sitting just outside Davíd’s room, having built herself a nest to pillows to protect herself from the cold floor. He was on the other side of the doorway, cross-legged in the grass with his gloves and shoes off, weaving the stems of flowers together to create elaborate crowns and necklaces. “Iaspis . . . who is he?”

“One of the earliest mortals to move into the Underworld. I needed a footman.”

Davíd frowned. “But he’s much more than that now.”

She shrugged. “He was too clever for menial work, so I took him on as an assistant . . . two centuries ago, maybe?”

“It’s just . . .” He frowned, fiddling with the flower in his hand; it began to grow and sprout buds, and he set it aside before it got too expansive. “Why not one of the Furies? Or -- there are plenty of creatures here, daemons and -- and Epimelitís, and okay, I suppose I understand why you might not be comfortable having him around all the time, but Iaspis?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with him?” she asked.

“No!” He shook his head fervently. “It’s not that at all! But . . . a human? It’s just an odd choice.” His voice got smaller as he spoke, until it was so soft she had to lean dangerously close to the flowers inside his room to hear him. “When you could have anyone.”

“I don’t need you criticizing my decisions,” she snapped. She got enough of that from the few times Ekkentro bothered to pay attention to what was going on down here. “Iaspis is good at his job, and it’s not like I have a ton of options, okay? So just drop it.”

“I’m terribly sorry,” Davíd said. “I don’t mean to sound critical! I just . . . never spent much time around humans before coming down here,” he admitted, finishing a small daisy bracelet and sliding it onto his wrist. “I was curious, I suppose.”

“Yeah, well stay curious then,” she snarled, flicking a rose that’d started creeping out of Davíd’s room and into her own. It turned black and died instantly, dissolving into ash that she brushed away with one hand. “It’s none of your business what I do down here.”

His brow furrowed. “But it kind of is,” he argued. “You asked me to work with you, and I can’t help if I don’t know --”

“_Ekkentro _ gave you to me because no one else wanted the job, and you can do it just fine by keeping your mouth closed and doing what I tell you to!”

“That’s hardly fair, Nkouén! And I would appreciate it if you were not quite so rude when I --”

“Oh, we haven’t even gotten in the same _ stadium _as ‘rude,’ but if you keep annoying me --”

“I just want to understand why --”

“Because I _ hate _immortals, that’s why!”

The room fell silent, Davíd’s eyes wide and shimmering. He was almost as pale as when he’d hugged her; this time, though, the shock was accompanied by a simple, almost childish hurt. 

Nkouén looked away and picked up the papers at her side, staring at them without comprehending a word.

It was more than just that the little ghost boy was good at his job; when he’d been merely a servant, he’d memorized her wild, unpredictable schedule and moods, managing to always have food hot and prepared when she needed it -- not physically, of course, but when the stress of literally _ creating and running the entire mortal afterlife _made her so frustrated and furious and bone-deep tired in a way she’d never thought was possible for the gods, there was just . . . always something there. A trinket that wouldn’t oxidize or wither away if she touched it. A plate of ambrosia or some mortal food she’d fallen in love with when the humans had started experimenting with their offerings. When she had a question or an order he’d appear at her elbow with his impeccable notes at hand, and sometimes she was convinced that even though she was the one run ragged over the ages, Iaspis was holding the Underworld together far better than she ever could.

He understood her. He’d died as just a child, but in a way that none of her divine family or any of the ageless denizens of the Underworld did, he understood.

Iaspis was, in fact, the only being who’d ever _ tried _to understand her, besides the one sitting silently in his little patch of forest a few feet away from her.

“Most of the gods don’t spend much time with mortals,” she finally said, “except in . . . you know, the physical sense.” Not that she’d never lain with a human, but she hardly made a habit of it the way her relatives did. And even if she did . . . “They’re everywhere, down here. Sad, and angry, and most of the time they died for the most unbelievably foolish reasons, because they’re ridiculous creatures. So short-sighted and violent -- even their love is violent, and it’s not to accomplish anything, but just because they don’t know any other way to be.” She picked up the papers and held them out to Davíd, who took them gingerly and began leafing through them. “They write the most beautiful poetry. And the most terrible poetry,” she added with a quiet laugh. “But even their bad poetry is passionate and real, because their lives are so short and so violent and they seem so aware of it all the time.

“And then they come here and . . . there’s no violence, except in Tartarus. There’s no _ anything _ here, just time stretching forever into darkness. Eventually those passions dry up -- unless you keep them busy, like Iaspis. And there just isn’t enough to _ do _here, unless they make it to Elysium. And almost no one gets there anymore.”

She sat back, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. This was something she’d never explained to anyone, not even Iaspis. “The humans kill each other,” she finally said, “but this place is what makes them stop _ being _. And none of the others care -- Ekkentro told me he was jealous that I had so little to do that I was trying to think up activities for the mortals.” She laughed bitterly. “They sent me down here, and none of them care to see what being down here _ does_, what eternity looks like without the treasures of Olympus. Because I don’t think any of them would mind if we all stopped existing.

“And so I can’t get mad at the immortal monsters in the Underworld,” she added, wiping her eyes furiously. “They’re furious that they’ve been thrown down here and forgotten. You wanted to know why I don’t have the Furies or a daemon as my assistant, Davíd? They utterly _ hate _me! They hate that this is where they’re going to spend eternity, and they hate the gods for sentencing them to it. And the rest of them are out of reach, far above even the mortal realm, so of course they must despise the one still within eyesight. I can’t blame them, but even I can’t spend all my time with someone who hates me.”

“Nkouén . . .”

“So, Iaspis.” She took a shuddering breath. “He doesn’t resent the gods, and he hasn’t lost himself. He’s my family more than Ekkentro or the others have ever been. And he’s the one mortal I can keep _ here_. I can do that for at least one of them.”

Davíd was quiet, that one aborted attempt at speaking having died. Nkouén wished she hadn’t handed over those papers, because she wanted more than anything to have something to pretend to look at. Instead she traced patterns in the grass just inside Davíd’s room, watching the blackened spirals form against the jewel-bright green.

Suddenly she was knocked sideways, slammed back against her nest of pillows by something warm and heavy and so full of life that it winded her. Davíd’s arms twined around her like creeping ivy, his face buried in the hair at the crook of her neck. His shoulders were shaking, and she thought it was due to the chill of her touch before she realized he was sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, lifting his face enough to suck in a few wet breaths as she maneuvered them into a sitting position. “Nkouén, I’m so proud of you and I’m so, so sorry.”

He kept murmuring it, over and over until the words lost any meaning. But the breath of them, the warmth of his voice and the depth of his feeling skated against her skin, seeping in like a sunburn and filling her chest with a dense cloud of lightness that was so unfamiliar she didn’t recognize it for a few moments.

_ Happiness_. She’d made her poor assistant cry like the world was ending, but she felt happy for the first time in over a hundred years.

Davíd finally lifted his head, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. He was white as a corpse, dark circles under his eyes and hollows carved into his cheeks, but his wobbly smile was just as warm as it always was.

“It’s okay, Nkouén,” he said once he had control of his voice, sniffling but looking and sounding more cheerful by the second. “I’ll help you come up with lots of activities for the spirits. Maybe we can have, I don’t know, different camps, with different things mortals like to do. I’m sure Iaspis will have lots of good ideas, and . . . maybe . . .”

He trailed off as Nkouén reached out with one hand, curling her fingers so her knuckles swiped along his cheekbone, picking up a few stray tears. He sucked in a quiet gasp, his eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m -- sorry,” he managed, opening them again as her fingers traced over his ear and around to the back of his head, making him shiver. “I didn’t mean to break your rule, I just . . . felt so bad --”

She flattened her palm against the base of his skull and dragged him to her, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth and biting down just hard enough to rip another one of those shocked gasps from him. Her other hand slid up his narrow chest and over his collarbone, grabbing a handful of his robes in her fist and yanking him closer.

He moaned, opening his mouth to hers and clinging to her shoulders. Their tongues met and he let out another needy noise, shuddering. He was so warm, warm as sunlight and summer, warm as _ life_, warm enough to leave burning imprints everywhere their skin touched that left her buzzing and tasting apples --

She jerked back, using the hand on his chest to hold him at bay. He was trembling now, little shivers that skated over his bone-white skin, but his eyes were as vibrant as ever. “I haven’t had to give you a new rule in a while,” she said, wincing at how hoarse her voice was. (Not very “stoic goddess of death,” that.) “Can I?”

Davíd nodded, swallowing hard.

Nkouén had been with mortals before and it was dangerous, careful -- more work than it was worth, really. But gods were made of sterner stuff. “Rule four is: Stop me when it hurts.”

He barely managed an affirming noise before he was kissing her again, slinging a leg over hers to straddle her lap and holding the sides of her face like she was something fragile and precious.

(He didn’t stop her, not even when it started to hurt. It turned out he liked being hurt almost as much as he liked everything else they did.)


	5. Rule 5

“You know, I think we’re pretty similar.”

Nkouén had been sprawled out on the bed, staring absently up into the blackness beyond which her ceiling lay. She rolled onto her side, resting her cheek on her folded arm. “What?”

Davíd was also lying on his back, the sheets twisted around him in a way that seemed unfairly beautiful, like a sculpture a careless genius had left in her bedroom. The color had almost completely returned to his skin, and the roundness of his cheeks, the little apples that appeared under his eyes when he turned his head to smile at her. “You and me,” he said, reaching over and brushing her hair out of her face. “We’re not all that different.”

She snorted, sitting up and enjoying the way his eyes couldn’t quite stay on her face. “Aren't you the god of vegetables and flowers?” she asked, unable to totally mask the fondness in her tone with derision. “What do we have in common?”

His smile didn’t completely fade, but it softened into something gentle and melancholy. “There are a lot of flowers at funerals, Nkouén.”

She hummed thoughtfully as he sat up, running his lips along her shoulder and up the side of her neck; tilting her head to give him access, she closed her eyes as he lifted her hair out of his path and kissed the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Is that so? I haven’t actually been invited to a lot of those.”

“Mm-hmm.” Davíd tilted her head toward his, capturing her mouth in a kiss that lasted too long to be anything but a statement of intent. She let herself be lowered back to the bed, smiling against his lips as he positioned himself above her. He found her hand and wove their fingers together. “We’re also both very nice,” he murmured against her jaw, following its curve down to the slight swell of her chest, “and caring.”

“Oh, _ are _ we?” Nkouén began teasingly -- but then his lips closed around her nipple and for a while she forgot the thread of their conversation.

Afterward, with his face buried in her hair and one arm slung over her waist, Davíd mumbled sleepily, “We have something else in common, too.”

“Yeah?” She turned her head toward his without opening her eyes, seeking his warmth. She felt loose-limbed and fuzzy, heated from the energy he’d poured into her and tingling with pleasure and life. “What’s that?”

He lifted his head to kiss the tip of her nose, sloppy and tired. “I like mortals a lot, too.”

* * *

“I hear it’s cold up there,” Nkouén said without looking up from the tablet spread out in front of her. “Right now, I mean.”

Davíd shrugged; he was standing in front of her bedroom wall with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, tacking small pieces of papyrus to the marble with drops of wax. “It’s not so bad,” he replied absently, before darting back to the table and quickly writing down another potential activity for Nkouén to run while he was up on the surface. They’d spent the last few months together researching mortals, and Davíd had covered her wall in potential hobbies to keep the dead entertained, all in his loopy handwriting and smeared inexplicably with dirt and vegetation: _ Archery, Hiking . . . _“You probably wouldn’t notice, since it’s always cold down here.”

She finished her list of tasks for Iaspis and walked over to where he was inspecting the idea wall, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. They’d more or less grown used to the effects of each other’s touch, but she still sighed happily as the warm-bath feeling of his vitality seeped into her skin, and he let out a surprised gasp before dipping his chin to kiss her forehead. “I hope it stays cold, then. So you don’t get too homesick.”

Davíd laughed softly, shrugging her off as he moved toward one of the sheets of paper, scribbling down another thought; he was almost impossible to distract in this mood, and she settled back against the floor cushions with amusement. “You could always come visit,” he mused, still writing. “Whenever you’d like!”

She rolled her eyes. “And leave this paradise to waste away into nothing without me?”

“Iaspis could keep things running for a little while.”

Her entertainment faded as she realized he was serious. “I . . . suppose I could. For a little while.” They were quiet for a few moments, Davíd hurrying back and forth as new ideas occurred to him and Nkouén wondering how she’d come close to fulfilling his vision without him there. “You’d have to find a way to keep me from killing everything.”

He waved his hand distractedly. “Don’t be silly! You’d have gloves.” He turned back to her, his grin growing sly. “And if Ekkentro notices anything, you can just say it’s a business trip. We’ll research what the mortals like to do for fun and plan out more activities!”

Nkouén groaned, flopping onto her back and flinging an arm over her eyes. “There isn’t enough gold or nectar in the world to do everything you have planned.”

The soft touch of his hand around hers made her look up; he pulled her into a sitting position, kissing her fingertips and wrapping his other arm around her back. “It’ll be okay,” he said, squeezing her hand.

She leaned forward until her forehead tapped gently against his. “I know.” When she kissed him, she felt him shiver. “I have another rule,” she told him, watching his eyes open and regain their focus. “Five is that you have to come back.”

“Six months,” he agreed, pulling her in for another kiss. “Not a second more.”


End file.
